So I've finally arrived in this Alabaster place. Looks alright, nice water fountain. Made friends with the bloke behind the bar at the Tavern already. Really gotta stop drinking. Haven't trained in a long time. Met a girl. She was nice. Vampire.

Why am I here? The thought keeps swimming around in my head. I haven't slept for 2 days.

Started posting myself over the town. 'Sword for Hire'. Apparently everyone round here can look after themselves.

*A stain covers most of the bottom of the page - coffee, maybe scotch.*

Found myself in the Tavern again; another day, another drink. Struggling to remember last night. Think i shifted. I don't know what it is, its happening a lot more regularly. Something to do with the scotch?

She isn't in here. Half of me wants her to be, the other half, well, who knows. Still can't remember her name. Think it began with R. Can remember her eyes though. Those emerald eyes.

Still no work. Not sure what else i could try... Might give up. Who knows?

That's enough for now. Back to my drink, back to my thoughts. Back to those eyes.

So, another day, another drink, another post in this so-called 'journal' of mine. Puzzled as to why people call this tatty old notebook a journal. It's not like any of this actually means anything. Or does it? I don't know anymore.

There was a conversation the other day and my past was brought up. It hasn't stopped playing in my mind. God knows how long i've strived to forget it, and yet hear it is, ingrained in my head, clear as crystal.Wolf of the Plains, Lord of the Bow, Bones of the Hills. I've lived with this saying all my life. I remember when my father first uttered it to me.

We were hunting i think. I was ecstatic to be on my horse, away from the gers, away from the chores. My father Yesugei had taught me the bow several years before, so i wasn't at risk of shaming him in front of the families. I could shoot an egg at a hundred paces, full gallop. Those were the days. I remember shooting a marmot, and my father and i dismounting to give the rites. I asked what he said as he spoke in low tones, cutting the throat. "We are the wolves, the lords, the bones, son," he said.

It's taken me over a hundred years to figure out exactly what he meant, and yet now it seems so simple.

Would you rather spend your life in so-called peace, whilst bigger men pillage and plunder and rule you? Or would you rather live to conquer, never running, never fearing?

Everyone dies. I have realised that. And that realisation comes with freedom.

Decided to use the last of my savings and buy a room in the tavern. It isn't much, but there's a sofa to sleep on, a desk for this notebook, and a table for the scotch; suits my needs perfectly. Cosy little place really. Stinks of incense.

Finally got some sleep. Drifted off next to the fire. Dreamt about her again.

This 'not thinking about her' thing isn't going well. I've drunk myself into oblivion, punched a few walls, snapped at a few tavern customers, but nothing is working. Not even the shift last night stopped it.

There's this thing off some movie that the humans talk about; imprinting. I know its a load of rubbish. It can't be real.

All in all, a shit day. Decided to shift and go for a hunt this morning. Carefully planning my assault on a doe i'd spotted, when out pops a vampire and away we go. Massive gash on my left shoulder, but you shoulda seen the other guy.

Stumbled to a little manor and bumped into another vampire. She turned out to be nice. Patched me up, that sorta thing. Rose, her name was.

Found out a little news that should go quite a way to helping me get over my little problem. Apparently every cloud does have a silver lining.

So here I am, laying next to this fire in my room, pouring over the things in my head. So many thoughts, I don't even know where to begin.

For a long time now, I've had a special place to put my sad memories. I imagine empty boxes in my head. I put the memories in the boxes. I seal the boxes. I put the boxes in a corner, and throw a blanket or a rug over them. Hey ho, no more memories.

But what does that leave me as? An empty shell? Devoid of life? A husk? Memories give us feeling. They let us know that we've experienced things, that things are actually real. The glittering stars, a carefully placed baby mobile made by giants. The rush of the tide at the water's edge, curling round your feet and soaking the hems of your bottoms. We do not make memories; memories make us.

So I guess that's the answer as to why I'm such a fuck-up. What am I aside from that? Aside from being a raging alcoholic? An egotistic boy trapped in an old man's body? Who knows anymore, coz I certainly don't.

Roman came into the tavern for a friendly chat, and Ariane turned up shortly afterwards. We had nice talk, about work, the past, powers and the like. It was going great until Ariane's uncle turned up. She left shortly afterwards.

Roman and I retired to his cabin, due to him having to make a 'few calls'. Ariane turned up yet again, which was hilarious.

I do not yet understand those two. I don't think i want too either. We discussed lycanthropy and vampirism, before Roman finally offered me a job. I am now his new personal bodyguard. Thank god i didn't let myself get rusty.

Times are changing it seems, and in barely a week. Already my mind has moved on. I still get flashes of green eyes, but they're now no more substantial than dreams. Its finally time to make myself known.

It draws you in, this place, but as always, I'm restless. I thought I could settle down. I thought, 'you know what Tem? You're getting old. Settle in one place long enough to grow a beard, for chris'sake'. Guess I was wrong.

Its a shame I never got to say my goodbyes, but I guess that's me. Goodbyes hurt, and I'm done with hurting. Anyway, I doubt this is a real farewell. I'll make my way back here in a couple years, I'm sure of it. But until then, I best be on my way. I'll leave this little notebook with Alfie.

Goodbye Alabaster. - Temujin Khanate.

*The notebook lies tucked away under the bar in the tavern, neatly tied with a small piece of string. On the front, a single dark pawprint is stained into the blotting paper.*